The Card | Page 3

asked to the ball, because not more than two
hundred people could dance in the Town Hall. There were nearly
thirty-five thousand inhabitants in Bursley, of whom quite two
thousand "counted," even though they did not dance.
III
Three weeks and three days before the ball Denry Machin was seated
one Monday alone in Mr Duncalf's private offices in Duck Square
(where he carried on his practice as a solicitor), when in stepped a tall
and pretty young woman, dressed very smartly but soberly in dark
green. On the desk in front of Denry were several wide sheets of
"abstract" paper, concealed by a copy of that morning's Athletic News.

Before Denry could even think of reversing the positions of the abstract
paper and the Athletic News the young woman said "Good-morning!"
in a very friendly style. She had a shrill voice and an efficient smile.
"Good-morning, madam," said Denry.
"Mr Duncalf in?" asked the young woman brightly.
(Why should Denry have slipped off his stool? It is utterly against
etiquette for solicitors' clerks to slip off their stools while answering
inquiries.)
"No, madam; he's across at the Town Hall," said Denry.
The young lady shook her head playfully, with a faint smile.
"I've just been there," she said. "They said he was here."
"I daresay I could find him, madam--if you would----"
She now smiled broadly. "Conservative Club, I suppose?" she said,
with an air deliciously confidential.
He, too, smiled.
"Oh, no," she said, after a little pause; "just tell him I've called."
"Certainly, madam. Nothing I can do?"
She was already turning away, but she turned back and scrutinised his
face, as Denry thought, roguishly.
"You might just give him this list," she said, taking a paper from her
satchel and spreading it. She had come to the desk; their elbows
touched. "He isn't to take any notice of the crossings-out in red ink--
you understand? Of course, I'm relying on him for the other lists, and I
expect all the invitations to be out on Wednesday. Good-morning."
She was gone. He sprang to the grimy window. Outside, in the snow,

were a brougham, twin horses, twin men in yellow, and a little crowd
of youngsters and oldsters. She flashed across the footpath, and
vanished; the door of the carriage banged, one of the twins in yellow
leaped up to his brother, and the whole affair dashed dangerously away.
The face of the leaping twin was familiar to Denry. The man had,
indeed, once inhabited Brougham Street, being known to the street as
Jock, and his mother had for long years been a friend of Mrs Machin's.
It was the first time Denry had seen the Countess, save at a distance.
Assuredly she was finer even than her photographs. Entirely different
from what one would have expected! So easy to talk to! (Yet what had
he said to her? Nothing--and everything.)
He nodded his head and murmured, "No mistake about that lot!"
Meaning, presumably, that all that one had read about the brilliance of
the aristocracy was true, and more than true.
"She's the finest woman that ever came into this town," he murmured.
The truth was that she surpassed his dreams of womanhood. At two
o'clock she had been a name to him. At five minutes past two he was in
love with her. He felt profoundly thankful that, for a church
tea-meeting that evening, he happened to be wearing his best clothes.
It was while looking at her list of invitations to the ball that he first
conceived the fantastic scheme of attending the ball himself. Mr
Duncalf was, fussily and deferentially, managing the machinery of the
ball for the Countess. He had prepared a little list of his own of people
who ought to be invited. Several aldermen had been requested to do the
same. There were thus about half-a-dozen lists to be combined into one.
Denry did the combining. Nothing was easier than to insert the name of
E.H. Machin inconspicuously towards the centre of the list! Nothing
was easier than to lose the original lists, inadvertently, so that if a
question arose as to any particular name, the responsibility for it could
not be ascertained without inquiries too delicate to be made. On
Wednesday Denry received a lovely Bristol board, stating in
copper-plate that the Countess desired the pleasure of his company at
the ball; and on Thursday his name was ticked off as one who had

accepted.
IV
He had never been to a dance. He had no dress-suit, and no notion of
dancing.
He was a strange, inconsequent mixture of courage and timidity. You
and I are consistent in character; we are either one thing or the other but
Denry Machin had no consistency.
For three days he hesitated, and then, secretly trembling, he